


A Prophetic Partnership Proposal

by AParticularlyLargeBear



Category: Heroes Rise
Genre: Alternate Universe - no superpowers, F/F, First Meeting, Fluff, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 20:26:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11043693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParticularlyLargeBear/pseuds/AParticularlyLargeBear
Summary: You're not quite over the poor ending to what wasn't quite a relationship.Your emotions didn't quite get the memo.





	A Prophetic Partnership Proposal

" _Plus_ the department is trying to see if it's possible to actually murder someone with paperwork, on top of- annnnd you've totally zoned on me. Sloot."

You have, truthfully, been listening to your long-suffering government worker best friend (and long-suffering best friend) Jenny Yu.

"Will sounds like a jerk, yeah."

"it's Jill, you dope."

Mostly. Mostly been listening to her. 

You feel like that's important to establish as a self-justification, because Jenny _is_ your best friend and you'd never intentionally ignore her except when she's really got it coming.  (You'd also make sure that she knows you're doing it, cause why be spiteful if you're not going to be all the way spiteful?)

Thing is, you're distracted.

"Sorry, sorry. Distracted."

Jenny arcs an immaculate eyebrow at you. In response, you flick your head just past her, towards the opposite side of the room. Sprawled in one of the corner booths is the object of your attentions; a scruffy brunette wearing combat trousers and a tanktop which has been dummied up to resemble a bulletproof vest.

Well, you hope, anyway.

Jenny frowns. "What, you know her?"

"Not exactly, no, but..."

Comprehension dawns. She pulls a face. " _Seriously?_ I know you aren't into prettied up girls, but this is a new low, even for you."

You shrug. "What can I say? I like what I like."

"Scruffbags who look like they crawled out from underneath a hedge," Jenny's exaggerating, but not by a whole lot; the girl's trousers are ripped up, and there's something resembling a twig sticking out from her hair, which itself is a tangled mess of waves. 

"Girls with some  _character_ ," you correct her, sticking out your tongue. It's sort of true? You don't have anything against girly girls, but you have a type, and that over there is it.

"Is the character Oscar the Grouch?"

You snortlaugh. "You're rude, Jenny," a grin. "Besides, why shouldn't I shop around my natural trash habitat?"

"Ah! She's self-aware," Jenny leans back in her chair and shrugs. You take the opportunity for a sip of coffee. "Well, whatever you say. Not like you ever make a move." 

You wince. Well  _yeah_ , because the one time you actually put yourself out there for a crush, it crashed and burned so epically that it could have been the plot of a romcom. Without the tearful last second declaration of love which patched everything up and resulted in an orchestral overture whilst the camera spun around the reunited couple.

Your love life is kind of more of a giant blaring 'MISSION FAILED' screen.

"Doesn't hurt anyone by looking, right?" you manage, recovering. 

Jenny doesn't outwardly react to the delayed response, but she's sharp. You know she noticed. "True enough. I'm just glad we both like different kinds of girls."

"Amen to that," Millennia city is a staggeringly diverse place, and there isn't any shortage of girls-liking-girls, but you can think of few things more awkward than you and your best friend both crushing on the same person.

And now you're back to the romantic comedies.

You glance to Jenny, decide to shift the focus from you. "How about you? Not seeing you passing up your hot coffee date for any _regular_ girls."

"What can I say? Someone's got to take the charity cases."

" _Ouch._ "

Jenny rolls her shoulder in another shrug. "I don't know," she says slowly. "I'm concentrating on work, really."

You sigh. Now that's something you've heard before. "When  _aren't_ you concentrating on work, Jenny? The department isn't going to explode if you look away for five minutes."

"You haven't met my coworkers," Jenny replies darkly, staring down into her coffee. After a long moment, she leans back, shaking her head. "I really don't know. Maybe I've been out of the game too long."

"That's the spirit! Never know till you try, right?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Well, I mean, I suppose."

You know what that look means, and you know she's thinking of your own misadventures again. 

"Hey, I don't need to be good at pulling it off myself to give qualified advice."

"Mm. I guess you can always tell me what  _not_ to do."

You reach across the table and shove her in the shoulder. "That's mean. You're mean."

Jenny starts to laugh, but then cuts herself off, perhaps sensing the genuine hurt underlying your flippant attitude. "Sorry. Really. You joke so much about it I forget how bad it was sometimes."

Understatement, but appreciated honesty. That's a prickly and painful story, and most of the time, it's easier to just make a joke about how you were friends with a rock star for a while. You'd been visiting the upscale side of the city, sketching out some concept art panels for your writer. You've always been into superheroes, and landing an artistic role for the 'Hero of Tomorrow' series was pretty much a dream come true. Nice to get an excuse to visit the pretty side of town, too. The art gig pays pretty well, but you haven't quite managed to drag your way out of your apartment on the Fringes yet.

In any case, that had been a creative day, and you'd been in full flow. 

So engrossed, in fact, that you hadn't even realised that you'd had an audience until they came and sat next to you on your bench.

Golden blonde, movie star good looks, and an outfit so cultivatedly casual it looped back around to being designer. You weren't and aren't the most culturally alert person in Milennia city, but even you could recognise Lucia, one of the hottest, fastest rising musical acts in years. Her debut album, Black Magic, had gone double platinum, and the follow up, Bright Magic, was currently dominating the airwaves.

And, uh. There she was. Sitting right next to you.

You fell to talking, bright and engaged, asking you about your work. By the time an hour passed, you were enthralled. She wasn't exactly your type, but she did have that rock chick vibe going on, so, close enough.

And that was it, after that. You exchanged numbers. She'd text you at weird hours in the morning, asking about you, asking if you wanted to come out, all kinds. You struggled, not being much of a social butterfly, but Lucia had a way of persuading you. Her presence was magnetic, and time and again you found yourself drawn in. 

Snaps emerged of you both in clubs (which you hated, but put up with for the sake of her company), in the VIP lines, speculation rife. On one occasion, a reporter asked about you an interview, and Lucia called you 'a very close friend' in a way that cleared no ambiguity whatsoever... which was exactly as she'd intended it.

All the while, there were suggestions of something more. She'd give you lingering looks, she'd always hug you long and hard. Once, drunk, she'd even kissed you affectionately, patting you on the shoulders and calling you 'wonderful'.

Eventually, you couldn't bear it any longer, and poured out your heart to her.

And... she'd looked shocked, asked for some time to think, and then gone radio silence overnight. No texts, no messages.  _Nothing_.

You're still not sure whether you just misread the mixed messages or she was leading you on deliberately.

As much as you're glad of being out of the public eye, you miss Lucia's company; and hate that you do. She's mercurial, flighty, sometimes overbearing, and yet also irresistibly charismatic and charming. Even almost a year on, the crush smashes into you full force every time you hear one of her songs or she makes a media appearance.

Which is a lot.

Back in the present, you shrug, managing to swallow down a sudden, painful lump in your throat. "Well you know. Laugh or cry, right?"

More often than not it's been cry, but Jenny's well aware of that. She's the one that helped pick up the distraught little pieces.

Before Jenny can respond (or possibly after and you're just so startled you don't hear her again, which at this stage you're really going to have to start apologising for), something catches your eye. Someone, more accurately. Scruffy girl is making a move, strolling towards your table with a pronounced swagger. She catches your eye and grins devillishly.

Your heart skips a beat.

Shit, you are  _so_ gay.

There's a red stripe in the middle of her bottom lip that drags all the way to her chin. You're not sure if it's makeup or a tattoo, but you  _are_ sure that it's unfairly attractive.

She stops alongside your table. "Sorry if I'm interrupting, chickens," she announces, in a way that conveys neither apology nor sincerity.

Jenny eyes her dubiously, and starts to say something before you frantically cut her off, mouthing 'Play it cool.' She shuts her mouth, turns that same dubious gaze to you.

"It's fine," you announce. You don't sound too nervy, right? You hope you don't sound nervy. Slugger. She's really cute.

"Fantabulous," she breezes. "You're Sterling, aren'tcha?"

Sterling is your pen name; one day, you hope to use your real name, but for various reasons, that's mud in the industry right now. You nod, uncertainly.

"Wickedly wonderful—or is that wonderfully wicked?—I  _thought_ I recognised you."

You've never seen anyone make an aside to themselves before. "I'm flattered?"

"Now that depends where I recognise you from, doesn't it chicken?" she pauses just long enough for worry to set in, and then winks. "But I don't care about gossip rags. So flattery is a good a feeling as any," she's hardly stood still for the entire time she's been at the table, tapping one foot, then the other, swaying slightly, fingers dancing around the table edge.

Jenny's patience is clearly at an end. "So, what, you a fan?"

Her grin lights up her face like a pinball machine. "Yes indeedy! I adore your  _Hero of Tomorrow_ work. To be direct, I wanted to hire you."

Wait, what? "You're a writer?"

"Yes'm! I'm what you'd call an eccentric genius."

"Eccentric, sure," Jenny mutters, not quietly enough to be missed.

The girl snorts out a giggling cackle that makes the butterfly in your stomach execute an elegant backflip.

"Point is, I know  _Hero of Tomorrow_ is finishing its print run, and someone as terrifically talented—not to mention tremendously tantalising—as you does not deserve to go unemployed for long!"

You very nearly miss the second compliment slipped in there. 

Not quite though. Your face heats up faster than a bursting thermometer. Sluuuugger. If you weren't sure before, you are now. She's  _flirting_ with you.

"Do you... often just walk up to people in coffee shops and offer them jobs?"

She blinks, as if the strangeness of the scenario never even occurred to her. "If they were the calibre of artist you are, then sure, why not?"

Jenny is giving you a warning look, and you try to wrestle your flustered emotions down. "Can we just slow down a second? I'm going to need terms, a contract; you know, something in writing, your _name,_ maybe?"

"Ugh, paperwork," the girl rolls her eyes. "Yeah yeah yeah, fine. Just wanted to make sure you were interested. It'd be a woeful waste of time, otherwise."

"Hey. She asked your name. You going to answer?" Jenny scowls at her.

"Yes mother," she sings. She sticks out her hand. "You can call me Prodigal."

"That... isn't a name," you feel as if you're announcing the obvious. Equally, you're not certain it's all that apparent to this girl—Prodigal.

She's still grinning. She mimes a handshake in midair, and feeling awkward, you take her hand. "Sure it is! If someone goes by it, then it's a name. Call it my business alias."

"There is no way you're a businesswoman," Jenny says scathingly.

"Entrepreneur!" Prodigal counters, finally letting go of your hand.  "And you should not judge a book by its cover, dearest darling."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay, so, uh, Prodigal," you cut in, feeling it best to get this back on track before Jenny murders her. "Do you have a business card or something?"

Prodigal produces a little rectangular card so quickly you don't even see where it comes from. It's plain black, with a single red stripe down the middle. Number and business name are included;  _Artillery Ink._

"Incorporated is spelt with a c," Jenny observes.

Prodigal rolls her eyes. "It's stylistic, stick in the mud. Anyway you don't catch me lecturing you about your stationery."

Jenny makes an unimpressed noise, and Prodigal presses the card into your hand, touch lingering for a few more seconds than is strictly necessary.

If your cheeks get any hotter you're going to erupt.

"Thanks," you manage.

Prodigal winks, then steps back from the table. "Annnnnnywho. I gotta jet. See you chickens later!" she backs up and away, managing to weave around a pair of patrons without even turning. She mimes a 'call me' gesture to you with her hand, and then vanishes out the door.

There's kind of a fuzzy couple of seconds and then your attention is reclaimed by a pair of snapping fingers. You start, look over to Jenny.

She pulls a face at you. "Promise me you're not going to go into business with someone just because you think they're hot."

"I would never!" you protest, then slowly break into a smile. "She is though, right?"

Jenny groans. "You have terrible taste in women."

"Can't hear you, don't care!" you sing, in a better mood than you've been in for months.

You spare a glance down at the card in your hand, remember how Prodigal's palm felt on yours.

...Well, here we go again.


End file.
